I Walked by a Sora, and Thought of 'The Natural Eye'

Three of my framed mokuhanga prints, about ready to be shipped to 'The Natural Eye' at The Mall Galleries in London.

 

I was walking through our kitchen this morning and saw a photo of a Sora on a calendar on a wall. I had to stop and look. How often do I get a good look at a Sora? What more could I learn about if from what I saw? Wouldn't it be great to be able to draw it from life again? All of those thoughts reminded me of something else I've been thinking about recently, all the various reasons to draw, and also this year's annual exhibition of the Society of Wildlife Artists' called 'The Natural Eye 2026.'

I have been showing at this juried exhibition since 2011, with a couple of off years early on where VAT requirements were just too complicated for me. It is always a thrill to have some of my work accepted for the show, and it is equally thrilling to actually see the show, just once in person in 2018 though that included 5-10 visits, but most of the time through online view by Mall Galleries and other online coverage. You walk out with a spring in your step.

I've often tried to explain why this is really the only exhibition I really care about getting into. I'm not sure about how successful I've been. But seeing the Sora on the wall got me thinking about it. If you've never actually seen a Sora I think, at least if you're interested in birds, you woiuld like to see one. But if you're an artist you'd like to see it well, and you'd like to see it well enough and long enough to see all the things that you find necessary in order to portray it. For me it always comes down to structure. How does the entire bird fit together. How does the bill relate to forehead and chin? Where is the eye in relation to bill? How does the head curve in the back? What is the conglomeration at the back of ther bird? Are the primary feathers and tail feathers in there somewhere? For me if you don't understand the structure on any bird, both generally and specifically, then you will have a hard time being accurate. 

 For me I'm also concerned with color. So as an artist you ask yourself what colors are there? What type of yellow would use for that bill. Where does the black near eye come in and how extensive is it? How does it relate to the other colors, including the grayish violet, and all the rich browns? I could go on and on. And then there is the marking on plumage. What color are they, where do they begin and end, are they too small even to paint without looking labored? For many artists this plumage detail seems to be the main thing. It is definitely not for me. But I understand how mesmerizing it can be.

But if you've seen many sora, or any bird actually, you, or at least I, have to think about movement? I almost physically empathize with the weight distribution of bird, almost feeling the stretch as it reaches out for possible food. Maybe that sense of movement is more important than plumage. It is for me.

And of course there is the environment that holds the bird. Reeds and mud, often for soras, with dark water often extending back into the reeds. A million other environments for a million, more or less, other birds. What do you do about them? It is a challenge you want to avoid or maybe something equally as interesting, at least to the artist, as the bird itself?

And all of this more or less supposes you want some sort of 'realistic' portrayal. Maybe you don't.

Brushpen and waterbrush sketches of Megachile bees, based on my photos. Copyright 2026 by Ken Januski

Most of the edition of 'Warbling Vireo, Common Yellowthroat and Wilson's Warbler at Roxborough Reservior' mokuhanga. Copyright 2026 by Ken Januski

Brushpen, waterbrush and watercolor sketch of Sachem Skipper. Copyright 2026 by Ken Januski.

Brushpen and waterbrush sketch from life of Carolina Wren on  our feeder. Copyright 2026 by Ken Januski.

What I"m trying to get at, even with a photo of a bird on a wall, let alone a live bird, is that there are an incredible number of decisions an artist can make about how to portray the bird. I've just listed some. In the tiny sketch of the Carolina Wren above I think it is done. What more could I possibly add to it without stripping the life from it? The same is true to some extent of the watercolor from a photo of the Sachem Skipper above it. What more could I do without making it a bit lifeless? But some people would like more detail, possibly enough detail that it might help them identify it, as in a field guide. This is a real goal of some artists, but it is not mine. But it's still a legitimate goal of many artists. And many artists desire some sort of accurate portrayal, one that satisfies their own artistic desires, but isn't really something to use as an aid to identification.

My point is that there are just so many different methods and goals an artist can have when portraying wildlife.  I don't know of any other exhibition that even comes close to showing that variety, ands showing it at a high level, as 'The Natural Eye.' There is a feeling of great accomplishment in accuracy of realistic portrayal with more traditional means, and there is great accomplishment of equal accuracy with completely nontraditional means. There is art that covers an incredible variety of 'wildlife' subjects, subjects that I'm sure some of the audience at the show has never even seen portrayed in art before.

And as the prospectus says more or less, it would like art that captures the spirit of the natural world. That is more than just plumage detail though that can be part of it. But people who spend time outside, who see the natural world and appreciate it, can also sense it in art in front of them. There is art that is only based on a photo and there is an art that indicates a real understanding and appreciation of nature, even if it sometimes has the 'accuracy' of a photo. I think that is why you, or at least, I left the show I saw in person with a spring in my step. It is a joyous show, celebrating nature in all its forms.

Brushpen and waterbrush field sketch of local Peregrines. Copyright 2026 by Ken Januski.

Brushpen and waterbrush field sketch of local Peregrines. Copyright 2026 by Ken Januski.

Brushpen, waterbrush and watercolor sketch of Wilson's Warbler from my photo. Copyright 2026 by Ken Januski.

Partial edition of 'Cedar Waxwings in Junipers' mokuhanga. Copyright 2026 by Ken Januski.

Brushpen and waterbrush sketch from life of Northern Cardinal outside studio window in rain. Copyright 2026 by Ken Januski.

In showing so much of my own work I'm just trying to show the various ways that I approach art, in very quick sketches done in about a minute, to an edition of mokuhanga which often takes 60-80 hours,  and everywhere in between. There are just so many ways to make art based on birds and wildlife.

Once the online gallery of this year's 'The Natural Eye' is available I will post a link here so that readers can see for themselves what I am talking about.

Of course I've forgotten something: the tremendous amount of imagination and creativity in the way that the artists in 'The Natural Eye' decide to portray their subject. Hopefully that will be quite obvious when I put up the link to the show. In many ways it is this imagination and creativity that is the most exciting part of the exhibition!

I should add that I wrote this on a Mac but the Mac and Blogger are at constant odds with one another. So if you see more typos than normal......

Three Often Coflicting Goals

Latest proofs on new mokuhanga: “Warbling Vireo, Common Yellowthroat and Wilson’s Warbler.” Copyright 2026 by Ken Januski

 Not for the first time I’m trying to finish a mokuhanga and am torn in three directions. What should be most important? The accurate rendering of the subjects, or at least no inaccuracies; an accomplished use of technique, especially in a craft as specialized as mokuhanga, or at least no glaring technical mistakes; or making good art, something that is pleasant to look at or better exciting and exhilarating to look at regardless of accuracy or technique?

In quick sketches I don’t have to worry about this. If they are quick there will most likely be inaccuracies, especially if working from life.  But with my prints, which generally take 3-4 weeks from start to finish, I want all that effort to pay off and to somehow satisfy all three of the above criteria, without driving myself nuts! In the end though it is the art part that takes highest precedence.

This mokuhanga is nearly finished but I just wanted to document my goals as I work on something ambitious before I forget about it and move on to something else.

Do You Need to Be Able to Compose a Fugue in Order to Make Quality Bird Art?

Yellow-rumped Warblers after SnowStorm. Mokuhanga by Ken Januski, copyright 2026.

A silly title perhaps but there is a definite point to it, though it may take a while to get there. What got me thinking about writing fugues, which I never have and almost certainly never will, was that it seems like it has been required often for people who wanted to compose ‘classical’ music. I say this as a non-musician and someone who has only been interested in it for the last 10-15 years.The point is: do you need to learn the basics of a field, no matter how old and perhaps cliched, in order to create good work in your medium, regardless of whether it is music or the visual arts?

One other thing that prompted this was being rejected from a bird art exhibition which I rarely apply to because it is so dull, at least to me. Out of curiosity I asked Google afterwards “Do any bold bird artists still exist?” I got an AI list of a few artists I’d either never heard of or certainly did not consider ‘bold!’ I also was offered something as an answer that referred to what was needed for great bird art. The answer: it needs to look like it’s about to fly right out of the picture. Hmm. Sounds simliar to the ancient Greek painters of only 2000 years or so ago.

White-tailed Deer, Green Heron and Wood Duck. Linocut by Ken Januski,  copyright 2013.

Mama Wood Duck Squawking at Errant Young. Brushpen and watercolor sketch by Ken Januski, copyright 2026.

The third strand of motivation for writing on the subject was just seeing yesterday a mother Wood Duck, bill open, squawking away at a couple of newly hatched ducklings that had wandered off from the ones sitting next to her and were surely headed for danger. I’d used a similar pose as part of a very early print of a Wood Duck squawking at a White-tailed Deer that was entering the water very near to her. Because it was early in my bird art endeavors and also my printmaking endeavors the print was a bit of a hodgepodge, mainly because I could not figure out how to add all the elements, including a Green Heron, togther in a convincing and interesting way.

The last strand of motivation for this post was my recently finished mokuhanga, ‘Yellow-rumped Warblers after Snow Storm.’ What could I write about it? Would it be seen as hopelessly primitive and inept?

As I thought about this over the last few days it reminded me of the problems I foresaw when I decided to make my fist art using birds as subject. Some of these problems I’m sure arose from my 30+ years as an abstract artist, but also someone with a lot of exposure to realistic art and art history. The main problem I saw was that I couldn’t just plop a bird down on bare paper or canvas and think that I had made art.* It might be a sketch, or a study, but it certainly wasn’t art, except perhaps if my sketches looked like those of Rembrandt. I thought this held for all bird art not just mine.

So much of what I saw was all about the bird and only the bird. So much bird art was just a bird plopped on a page. There might have been a lot of detail, but still it was just plopped on a bare page or canvas. Some bird art, which I liked a bit more, seemed to vignette the bird. The bird was still plopped down more or less in the center of the canvas and then some gauzy, indistinct, slightly impressionistic rendering of a few leaves or branches were put in and then feathered out to nothingness at the edge of the canvas/paper. These were more convincing but still seemed both formulaic and a bit fudged. The other main method that I saw, and still do, was to place the bird in a realistic environment of smothering, stultifying detail.

Those were the three avenues I saw as open to me and none of them seemed appealing.

The last is probably still the most popular with people who like bird art. It is made easier for artists who use photographs as the source from which to extract the environmental detail. But to me the easiness shows in that there is often no compositional creativity. Everything is dictated by the photo. And of course it can also smack of tedium. But, back to the musical theme, I wondered if perhaps it was just necessary to learn how to paint enironmental detail, just like musicians ofteh had to learn to compose a fugue. But for someone who had painted large abstract paintings for 30 years or so the answer was NO! Still there has always been that question: was I ignoring something important because if seemed like too much work and I didn’t like it? I’m sure some  music composition students did not like the idea of writing fugues, at least when they started!

But for me the answer remained, and remains, NO. I don’t want to create work that places birds in a detailed but somewhat believable world. Though I can admire the work of some artists who work that way I have no desire to do so myself. I should add that most of the artists I admire who do work in that manner are not totally beholden to photos. They may use them but still let themselves be the boss of what goes into and what does not go into the environment  they create for their subject.

One thing I did know when I started is that I needed some sort of environment for the bird subject. If it was not going to be realistic detail perhaps I could do it through the formal means of color, texture, shape and the relationship of all of these. I would say that I am still doing that more or less. The one thing that has changed I think is that I also no longer feel any need for traditional representational space. Sometimes I use it and sometimes I don’t. The print of the squawking Wood Duck, White-taiiled Deer, Green Heron and vegetation is one of my first crude stabs at including all of these subjects, but not in a traditional manner. It was a stumbling step forward.

One thing that  I picked up from all of my courses in art history and from many visits to museums etc. is the understanding that so much of art from 1800 until sometime in the late 1900s is about freedom. The freedom for color to be important on its own, untethered from subject. The same can be said of shape, of texture, of mark-making and eventually of space itself, though I’ve always thought Tintoretto was way ahead of his time in regard to experimenting with space. So much freedom has been brought to art, and yet you almost never see it in bird art.

I continue to try to find my own way, staying true in some way to birds and their environment, but also not ignoring all the freedom that has been part of the visual arts for about 200 years. The new mokuhanga is the latest step and one that I am happy with!

Wood Ducks Along Wissahickon, another old linocut and one trying to create a half-abstract environment, copyright 2011 by Ken Januski.

Oh yes! After asking the question about whether any bold bird artists still existed I realized that I already knew the answer. Many exist as members of The Society of Wildlife Artists and in the annual exhibition of them and other artists at 'The Natural Eye' at the Mall Galleries in London every fall. This answer could be seen as thoroughly self-serving since I've exhibited in many of those exhibitions, though not as a member. All I can say is that I don't mean it to be self-serving and I only thought about SWLA and the exhibition a few days after I had asked Google the question.

*My first footnote ever. Written before someone bites my nose off for slighting sketches. I don't mean to suggest that sketches are different from art. In many instances, if not most, I prefer the sketches of artists to their more finished work whether it is a painting, a print of whatever. I love to see work from life and I especially like much field art, if it really is field art. To me Rembrandt's sketches are more appealing than his paintings, which I also like. What I meant up above is that you can't easily take a sketch and move it to a canvas or piece of paper without some further modification. It so often loses the sense of life and spontaneity it had in the original sketch. I don't know enough about Japanese, Chinese and other related brush painting to say if they are different. I think probably that they are, that there is more appreciation for a sketch as a finished and valuable piece of art. But as I said I know too little to say anything more. 

Me and Igor

Cedar Wawings In Juniper. Mokuhanga by Ken Januski. Copyright 2026.

I have used names of famous people in titling works or in naming posts a few times in my career, really more of a homage than as anything else. In the Hemingway of last post it was neither. In fact a recent rereading of Hemingway was quite disappointing. I used him because his quote on when to stop working on a creative work for the day made a lot of sense. Quite a bit back in the past I referred to Thelonious Monk or his musical compositions in titles to some abstract paintings. This was strictly as a homage, but also as someone who understood little about jazz. I just liked it and him and I suppose I also hoped some of his artistry would magically land on my canvases just through my reference to him.

Igor in this title refers to Igor Stravinsky. I'm using his name in the title because twice in the last 20-30 years a work of his has reminded me that I don't live in the 19th century. Years ago it was 'Rite of Spring.' Last year it was 'Le Noces,' a ballet by him. Both of them were just shocking! Not in a bad way, but in an exciting way, seeming at least to me to show a type of music that I'd never heard before. The freshness and imagination were almost beyond comprehension.

I'm writing about this because once you've been exposed to that type of excitement about a work of art, it's hard to forget it. A recent rehearing of both works just showed how lasting their impact has been. So as I'm making art that is based on portraying the natural world, specifically birds, I occasionally ask myself: "What in the hell are you doing?"Are you not doing something that is astonishingly anachronistic?"

On the other hand particularly with portraying animals, and probably people as well though I've rarely used them as subject myself, there is I think a really primitive, almost atavistic desire to just portray them, to translate their living selves into something that also lives on paper or canvas. This has always been part of my goal and I greatly admire artists who pursue it honestly and not sentimentally. I think it will always be a very important part of some art.

For me however I also care about the language I use. Most artists also do to some degree or another. Whether it is words, harmony, rhythm, color, shape or whatever many artists know that they are using a language unique to their art and they want to keep that language fresh and alive. They tire of using the language of 100 years ago. It is that thought which the music of Stravinsky always brings to mind: what a new language he is using!

So when I came to do the mokuhanga of numerous Cedar Waxwings that I'd seen in early fall, especially in Junipers I had no desire AT ALL to portray them in a traditional manner. I would say that this was true of almost every print I've ever made. I am always trying to capture the life and animation of my subjects but never in a traditional way. All of this is more or less to explain how this print came about. I wanted to give some sense of waxwings and waxwings moving in junipers, but I also wanted to do so in a way that seemed fresh, that did not look like it had been created 150-200 years ago.

Maybe this is why so many people have at some time railed against any 'modern' type of art. It is a threat; it is disruptive; it can stick with you whether you want it to or not. But in my case I"m quite happy that it has. The more I look at art, of any type, the more I realize how many artists were just like this. They needed to find a new way to use their language. It is just as basic I think as the drive to portray on paper or canvas the life of things you see around you, especially animate objects. To me it Is a thrilling quest.